Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms, #6)

by Melanie Harlow

Because this is the problem with me. I think I’m good at reading people when actually what I’m good at is wishful thinking. Letting fantastical notions about guys run away with my brain rather than seeing who they really are. It’s not because I enjoy getting my heart broken—although that’s often the result—but because I’m hopelessly romantic and I don’t know how to pace myself. There’s even a name for it—emophilia.

Emophilia